


A Single Grain

by virgo_acris



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mystery, Tags May Change, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-11 15:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virgo_acris/pseuds/virgo_acris
Summary: Even small deeds can have large effects. But would it be enough to make a difference? It is for Shizuo to find out.





	1. Chapter 1

“Kill! Kill! Kill!” Low rumbling echoed from the walls of shabby looking buildings. The street was narrow with many turns which Izaya took every once in a while and Shizuo just couldn’t get him. They were running for, what it seemed, hours, when in reality it hardly took more than twenty minutes. It was Izaya’s fault. Who else but that damned flea!? How many times had Shizuo told him to stay out of Ikebukuro? He just would’t listen. Of course, he wouldn’t. Sometimes Shizuo wondered what was it all about with Izaya always messing with him, putting him on edge. Didn’t that parasite have better things to do? That question required no response. It was as clear as a day – the pest just found some sickening glee in screwing people’s lives. Shizuo felt a hot wave of anger washing him over.

“Stop, flea!” He shouted. “Stay where you are! Let me kill you to be sure you never come back in Ikebukuro!”

The dark slender figure in a good dozen meters ahead of him never turned around.

“Ha-ha, Shizu-chan,” came a too well-known sing-song voice, “what’s the point of our little play of tag if I give in?”

Shizuo made an angry sound resembling either a roar or a battle cry and ran even faster.

The street was growing more and more narrow. Ever and again Shizuo bumped into lamp posts, parked cars and buildings, crushing them and leaving wreckage and debris in his wake. Soon the street ended with a tall abandoned building which Izaya quickly ran into. The building looked as if it were going to collapse one minute or another. The yellow tape was screaming ‘danger’, desperately trying to prevent thrill-seekers from getting into the construction spot. Shizuo paid no attention to its forlorn warning and followed the pest.

“Kill! Kill! Kill!” Bare concrete walls resonated with that low menacing rumbling. The half-destroyed steps creaked threatening to fall apart under Shizuo’s weight. He, however, didn’t pay attention either to crumbling walls, to no good stairs or to collapsing ceiling. The only thing on his mind was Orihara Izaya. The information broker, the cause of 99.9% of all bad things happening to the city, to Shizuo himself. He hated that pest! And now then the disgusting flea stench made a path for him to find the pest and end it for good, Shizuo kept running upstairs to the roof.

The light came in the shape of an open door to the roof and Shizuo hurried through it. There he saw Izaya. With no way out, no exit, no nearby houses he was isolated from the whole world by the building height and by Shizuo in a doorway. The minute Shizuo looked at that always smirking smug face and for a fleeting moment seeing nothing but a frown which soon changed into a fake sneer, he knew. He knew it was the end. The end of their confrontation, of Izaya ruining Ikebukuro and Shizuo’s life! The end of him messing with people’s lives. A showdown. Shizuo shifted his gaze to a metal pole and, having picked it up, secured the door, making a hand-made loop through the padlock hasps.

Once again looking Izaya straight in the face, he made a step towards him.

“That’s it, flea,” he said in a strangely calm voice. “The game is over.”

“Oh, is it, Shizu-chan?” a mocking answer came followed by a switchblade thrown at him.

Shizuo dodged, the impulse made it possible for him to quickly pick up speed and he sprang forward seeing red and Izaya only.

The speed, that monstrous invincible body. If Shizuo had managed to catch Izaya, he woud have gone skywest. It would have been similar to dying in a car accident. Being hit by a truck, to be certain. Fortunately for Izaya, he managed to dodge and slash Shizuo’s torso, admiring the red line dissipating through his clothes.

“Oh, how nostalgic,” he said in a sing-song voice jumping onto the railings. “It’s been a while since I did it, hasn’t it, Shizu-chan?”

“Tch!” Shizuo spat on the floor in vain hope to get rid of that foul taste in his mouth that had risen with the recollection of their first encounter.

“The worst thing that happened to me in my whole life!” Shizuo roared, anger burning deep and hard.

Izaya smirked, as always looking down on him from the height of his own position.

“That’s a cruel thing to say,” he answered tauntingly. “And here I thought that we have been having fun~”

Something snapped in Shizuo. The anger, the never ending fury, filled each and every part of his body. He was burning up, longing for his fury to find a way out. With a deafening roar he charged on his enemy, the person who made a game of bringing chaos to his life.

“I-ZA-YA!” That damned flea. That pest. That bastard. The person he hated most.

His rage gave him speed. With a quick motion he captured Izaya’s arm and clenched it so tightly he could swear he heard his bones creaking. The wide-eyed horror was on that face when Izaya swayed, the old railings going crumbling down, and Shizuo, under his own momentum, gave him a tug, pulling Izaya back onto the roof. Izaya fell on the ground breathing hard and heavy, and Shizuo looked at his own hand in disbelief. Now when he had lost his hold, he was loosing his footing as well, as the railing had gone down in fragments of concrete and metal.

It happened both fast and agonizingly slow. He made a try to grip the remaining railings, but those were too far, and he was already going down. The pallid moon on an afternoon sky invaded his vision and Shizuo wondered if that peaceful scenery was the last thing he would see. If so, he could die happy.

He hit the ground with a sickening thud. That monstrous body made it possible for him to stay conscious while the blood from the gash in his head he cracked open with a piece of concrete was running on the floor. Against the darkening sky – was it already growing dusky or maybe he was fainting – he saw a dark figure standing on the roof of the building. Looming over him, laughing at him, with that ever present smug sneer. Shizuo closed his eyes.

When he came round, Shizuo slowly opened his eyes. Was he lying? Was he standing? Everything was too still, too silent. His ears were ringing with deadly quietness and he looked around. The wind never stirred the leaves on the few trees. The birds never chirped. Were there any birds? Shizuo couldn’t see them. He could see nothing but a tall figure approaching him at a cantering pace.

“I-Izaya?..” he croaked and immediately saw that he was wrong.

The man was tall and slender with fair skin, delicate features and hair of that warm auburn brown. He held out a hand for Shizuo – to stand up? To come closer? Where was he? What was happening?

“Where am I?” Shizuo asked, finding himself near the man, so close to him that it seemed if he thrust a hand, he would touch the soft fabrics of an expensive looking brown suit. “Who are you?”

“Heiwajima Shizuo,” he said in a clear ringing voice. “You lived a life full of violence and regret.” Those words sounded nothing like Japanese, but they strangely found their way. Though Shizuo could understand their meaning, he was failing to figure what was going on.

“And now, between life and death, the line you are standing on is narrow and dark. You have a chance to make a turn to the light, to life, but this chance will be given in exchange…”

“What do you want from me!?” Shizuo snapped as a primal fear began to wash him over like a cold wave of northern sea. He was seized with horror he thought he wasn’t even been able to feel. Everything seemed fake, transparent, lifeless. He couldn’t feel his limbs, his body. How was it even possible for him to stand? He couldn’t really see the ground for it was barely there – just a hint of translucent grey and brown. He couldn’t feel the wind blowing. A slightly trembling hand pressed into the chest and he couldn’t feel his heart beating. Was he even breathing? It was neither warm, nor cold. An entire stillness. But there was nothing peaceful about it. Waves of impalpable fear seized him over and over again. Fear of darkness and death, dangers of uncertainty, inability to know what was coming next. Dry lips slowly parted but neither sigh nor exhale came out. A complete stillness.

The man silently studied Shizuo’s face distorted with terror.

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” he said at last. “You have the second greatest gift after the gift of being born – the chance to come back.”

Shizuo felt a heavy lump building in his throat and swallowed hard, getting nauseous from the sour taste in his mouth. Was it true? Was he really dead?

“As I have said,” the man continued looking at Shizuo dispassionately. “The chance will be given in exchange for your own gift to another human.”

“I don’t get it.” Shizuo finally managed to say. It was too surreal, too dream-like. Was it what really happened after you died? “What are you driving at? What other gift?”

“Of a second chance. You must help a young boy to get a better life. Like yours his life has been full of hatred, anger and sorrow. You must change it.”

“But how…”

The man brushed the question away with his narrow hand.

“You will figure it out. That is one part of your task.”

“And who are you?” His own words were dying in the coming ringing silence as a fainting-fit was creeping its way.

“I am your guide,” came the reply and sunk in the darkness and stillness.

Nothingness came.


	2. Chapter 2

Shizuo woke up with a start. His heart was beating too fast and hard; Shizuo was dropping with sweat. Breathing out heavily, he mopped his brow and closed his eyes. Strange as it might seem, the feeling of being too hot put him at ease. That was his reassurance of being alive. Had it all been a dream? Having rubbed the back of his neck, Shizuo sat up and looked around. The room he was in wasn’t his. Though small, it was bright with the light coming through a big open window and cozy. At last he noticed that he wasn’t lying in bed but on futon. In the corner by the window there was a working desk with a personal computer on the top of it. The PC didn’t look as those modern ones. The screen wasn’t either flat or big. Actually, it looked too similar to the one he had as a teen.

“Huh…” Shizuo breathed out, and his gaze shifted to the centre of the room.

There was a small Japanese table in the middle. On the top of kotatsu there was an empty glass which still bore a lip press on its edge, an almost empty jar of what seemed like barley tea and an open notebook with something written and circled in its lined sheet. The wall near the desk was lined with book shelves; their backs holding titles in Japanese and English.

“What the..”

Suddenly a pleasant ding-a-ling sound filled the room as a light breeze blew through white translucent curtains, making a small wind bell stir.

“I see you are awake, Heiwajima-san,” followed a clear voice. That voice from the nightmare he had! Or it wasn’t a dream, was it?

Shizuo turned round short, kneeling on the futon, and his gaze met the one of those lucid eyes.

“Good morning, Heiwajima-san. I hope you slept well,” said the man, the guide as he called himself, and watched Shizuo without any expression on that serene face of his.

“You!..” an exhale came, and Shizuo sprang to his feet.

Unconsciously he balled his hands into fists, familiar fury taking the best of him, and approached the man. They were the same height, but the man seemed taller – was it his slender figure or the eerie air that surrounded him.

“You have nothing to be afraid of, Heiwajima-san,” he said with an unreadable expression his face always bore.

How could anyone mistake that blind fury for fear? Or was it fear? Shizuo swallowed heavily, his hands unclenched.

“Is it…” words were heavy on his tongue. “Is it really the second chance?”

Without any hint of emotion, the man nodded. Shizuo unthinkingly nodded in reply.

“Is it… um… ” he hesitated, “do I really need to help a person get another chance?”

“So I have said,” the guide replied, his voice calm and clear. “I am here to show you your task. That done, I will go. When you succeed, you get your own second chance.”

“If not?” Shizuo interrupted, his voice full of poorly hidden nervousness.

“You stay until there is a possibility for the boy to change for the better.” Clear eyes scrutinized his face. “With this possibility gone, you vanish.”

Shizuo swallowed, feeling a lump building in his throat. To vanish. To cease. To stop existing. What would it be like? If it in any way resembled that eerie feeling of nothingness, of complete sense deprivation, it would be a hell.

“But what must I do?” he managed to say, finding his voice.

“That is for you to figure out.” Came the calm reply.

Shizuo licked his dry lips and looked into the clear eyes in front of him. The glint of wise kindness was coming from the depth of those eyes, and Shizuo finally relaxed. He got a lungful of fresh air and nodded more to himself than to his guide.

“Ok,” he said, coping with his fate. “Fine. I get it. Just tell me what I gotta do.”

The guide took a step back as if he were getting ready to go.

“It is time for you to start the task,” he said motioning towards the wardrobe.

“Care to explain?” asked Shizuo, nervousness starting creeping its way back to his cold limbs.

“Here you are a new-coming teacher of a primary school.”

“Huh!?”

To say that he was surprised would be a gross understatement. He was absolutely astonished! How would it be possible for him to play a teach!? He was Heiwajima Shizuo, the monster of Ikebukuro, as they called him. He snapped road signposts in half, sent vending machines and cars flying, left only destruction and violence in his wake. Corners of his mouth turned down, as he wondered how on earth he could be near children all day long.

“And there is that boy in your class you must help.”

“How would I know who he is?” asked Shizuo hoarsely, still overcome with that bitter feeling of his own worthlessness.

_Pain and destruction…_

“He is sitting by the window. The second seat from the back.”

“I see…”

It took Shizuo not more than twenty minutes to get ready. His suit was already hanging in the wardrobe, washed and ironed to perfection, his brief case ready at the door. And there was he walking down the street, desperately trying his best to pay attention and remember the way. The man, his guide, said it was their last encounter, and from that moment they got to the school gate, Shizuo was on his own.

“It is class 5-2, Heiwajima-san. But firstly make sure to visit staffroom. They are waiting for you.”

“Waiting… for me?" repeated Shizuo in utter disbelief.

The guide met his doubtful gaze and simply nodded.

“Yes. But remember – you are merely a distortion to this space and time. Only effect of what you have done will matter, will linger. You, Heiwajima Shizuo, the person, will be forgotten as soon as you leave for your second chance or… vanish.”

Shizuo swallowed heavily. Vanish. The possibility of once again being trapped in that vacuum-like non-existence made his skin crawl.

“And then the life will come back to its normal course.”

The guide studied his face for a moment and added, “I am counting on you, Heiwajima-san.”

“I’ll do my best,” came the reply, and the guide turned his back at Shizuo, hastelessly going away from him.

His slender figure clad in a brown suit seemed transparent against the rising sun. Its rays gleaming through auburn brown hair created a warm golden red halo. His slowly retreating figure looked almost angelic…

“Heiwajima-san?” A cheerful voice interrupted the train of his thoughts, and Shizuo turned around.

At the school gate a young woman wearing a white and red jumpsuit was standing. Her smile was broad and sincere, shining brightly in those warm green eyes. Shoulder length chestnut hair was fastened in a low messy ponytail.

“Heiwajima Shizuo-san, am I right?” She asked and, with Shizuo’s nod, her smile grew even wider.

“My name is Suzuki Moriko. I am the teacher of 5-1 class. And we have PE together with your class 5-2. Nice to meet you!”

“Ah…” Shizuo hesitated, rubbed the back of his neck with a free hand, there was a leather brief case in the other, and finally said, “yeah, nice to meet you too.” He met her smiling gaze and managed to give a halfhearted grin. “I’m counting on you to help me around.”

Suzuki showed him around the school: the lockers, the gym, the canteen, the staffroom.

“Heiwajima-sensei... Right?” asked middle-aged man in a worn grey suit adjusting his glasses.

Shizuo nodded, the sensei part sounded so foreign that it put him unease.

“I see, I see. I am Kitagawa Takehiko, 6-2 class. Nice to meet you”

“Nice to meet you too,” mumbled Shizuo, that whole situation was making him go nuts.

“You’ve got Araki-sensei’s class. You know, she is, umm, in a particular condition.” The words he said made him blush and perspire, and Kitagawa took a worn handkerchief out of a jacket pocket to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “They are good kids. Except for one…”

Shizuo braced himself getting ready to know more about that boy.

“That Matsuoka Miu girl. A complete disaster. ”

_What? A girl?_

“I used to substitute Araki-sensei from time to time, and that girl was always misbehaving. Keep it in mind, Heiwajima-san.”

“Thank you, Kitagawa-senpai,” said Shizuo more out of habit and, having noticed Suzuki’s surprised glance, corrected himself, “um, Kitagawa-sensei, I mean.”

Kitagawa coughed and adjusted his glasses, Suzuki spluttered with laughter. Warmth touched his cheeks, and Shizuo rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly smiling.

“So, here we go,” said Suzuki at the door with the sign “5-2” above it. “I wish you good luck.”

She might have noticed Shizuo’s nervousness as she smiled warmly and patted his shoulder.

“Chin up, sensei,” she said teasingly. “They are good kids. Matsuoka, as well.”

“Well…” he hesitated for a moment and smiled back. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You are very welcome.”

The bell rang, but Shizuo didn’t hurry to enter the class. Through the closed door he could hear the gleeful chirping of those boys and girls he had to teach. Somewhere sitting by the window at the second desk from the back was a boy he had to help. Would it be even possible? Had Shizuo ever made anyone’s life better? He honestly doubted.

_Pain and destruction…_

Bracing himself, he laid a hand on a knob and entered the class. Immediately dozens pair of eyes got fixed on him, silence taking the room over. As if woken from a dream, a boy at the first desk sprang to his feet.

“Stand up!” the boy, apparently a class monitor, commanded. Everyone got up and stood straight by their desks. “Attention! Bow!”

In one well-practised synchronized motion the whole class bowed their heads.

“Sit down!” dismissed the class monitor.

Shizuo stood still, mouth agape. It had been quite a long time since his own school years. Suzuki must have been right; these kids were okay. Recollecting himself, Shizuo bowed in return and approached his desk. As he placed himself behind the desk, the class monitor stood up and handed him a form list with names attached to designated desks. Shizuo once again bowed slightly taking the list. For a moment he considered taking attendance, but, giving it an extra-thought, decided against.

“My name is Heiwajima Shizuo. I will be your 5th grade teacher. Let’s work hard to make this year fruitful. We all have a lot to teach each other.”

As his last words died out in silence, Shizuo’s mouth twitched.

_Tch, as if I had anything to teach them…_

_Oh yeah,_ he completely forgot about the name. Turning to the blackboard, he took a piece of chalk and began writing his name.

Hei.

“Look, Tsu-chan, teacher’s hair is blonde,” came a subdued giggle.

Shizuo cringed. Wa.

“He must be yakuza,” whispered some boy.

A hot fury began forming somewhere in his gut. Jima.

“How do you think, Kei-kun, does teacher have a knife?”

It grew hotter, and Shizuo took a deep breath. Tom-san used to tell him to count to ten. But how could he count and write? _Tch, damn multitasking is bad for your focus!  Do they want me to loose my focus? If I lost it, I could even die in an accident. Do they want to kill me? If they want, then they should be ready to…_

Shizuo stopped. Damn thoughts! Those would lead to nothing good. Shizu.

“Ne, Tsu-chan, look at him. It doesn’t’ seem he needs guns or knives. I’m sure he can beat his enemy to a pulp with no trouble at all.”

The piece of chalk crashed under Shizuo’s grip. The class went silent, but Shizuo, seething with anger, was breathing hard.

_Pain and destruction…_

Turning to face the class, he laid a hand on the back of a chair; the wood creaked under his grip.

“Let’s check who is present,” he said abruptly, still trying desperately to calm down.

Starting with a row next to the door, he called a name, a student would stand up and either silently or with a short “here” declare their presence.

Calling their names and taking attendance calmed Shizuo pretty much. It was almost similar to that advice Tom-san gave him. Only now instead of counting to ten he was counting his students. Until he came to the row by the window, second desk from the back. His heart sank, bitter cold spread sharply to his limbs.

“Orihara Izaya.”

The said boy stood up and looked Shizuo in the eye.

“Here,” came a quiet voice.


	3. Chapter 3

Shizuo didn’t believe his own eyes. _No_ , he blindly denied, _no way it could be true_.

The fair skin of the small boy’s face was almost white in the bright light of a sunny morning. The dark slightly slanted eyes he remembered now looked almost too big on that round face. The boy sat down; his eyes stayed fixed on Shizuo’s face.

“Heiwajima-sensei~” came a mischievous voice.

Shizuo glanced at a girl with two messy ponytails.

“You are the first one ever who managed to read Orihara-kun’s name at once!”

His gaze drifted back to Izaya – those dark eyes were boring into his face.

“That’s so cool, sensei!” said someone, but Shizuo never turned to find out who they were.

He couldn’t get his eyes of the miniature version of Orihara Izaya. That damned flea, that pest he despised, hated with all his heart! And now here he was to help him change his damned life for the better.

“Is it a joke?” he thought, never noticing he actually said it out loud.

“That’s not!” the same girl replied sounding rather hurt. “Look! His name is written funny! The kanji are pronounced wrong!”

Someone laughed.

If it were a joke, it would be the cruelest joke ever. It was even ironic in a way that Shizuo had to help one person he wished he would never see again in his life.

“Ok,” Shizuo said finally, turning to a blackboard. Suzuki had shown him the schedule before and though he knew what lesson was coming, Shizuo had to improvise. When he faced the class once again, there were big and distinct kanji forming the word “dry river bed” right in the middle of the board. Despite his struggles to draw kanji as neat as they could be, they looked… Well, it was a long time since Shizuo had hand-written a letter.

“Class, take your tools for calligraphy and complete the task.”

Time passed, but not as fast as Shizuo was praying for it to pass. What should he do?

“Teacher, my ass,” he muttered making a turn to pass the middle rows.

Looking at children drawing strokes with a brush, he thought that his ones might not be that hideous. A warm wave of self-confidence washed him over, and Shizuo smiled. Taking another turn, he got to the row by the window. The guy at the last desk did a real lousy job, but that wide-eyed look he gave, looking up at Shizuo with that hopeful “is it any good, sensei?”, question made Shizuo smile encouragingly and tell him to keep it up.

Then Shizuo made a step forward, his gaze stopped at a raven head. Orihara Izaya. It must be a pretty shitty life for the most terrible thing that had ever happened to him to repeat. Now he had met that pest for the second time. Shizuo cursed silently and moved his glance to the sheet with the kanji drawn spick and span.

“The stroke here should get thinner,” said Shizuo and circled the mentioned stroke three times with his red pen until its ink soaked through the paper. “You should try harder, Orihara.”

The latter tilted his head, dark strands of hair obscuring his eyes. Shizuo, who was about to go back to his unhurried roaming, suddenly stopped, his gaze hard and heavy.

“And what must you say, Orihara?” Shizuo asked, his voice low and menacing.

“I’ll do my best, sensei,” came a quiet reply, Izaya never lifted his head.

“Then take another sheet and do it again. And this time,” Shizuo’s gaze was boring into that bowed head; his voice heavy with contempt, “make sure to put some effort into it.”

Shizuo couldn’t remember clear how he managed to live through the lessons. He gave tests he never meant to check, then another tests, then assigned students to do some research on the topic. Thankfully it was the last but one lesson for today! With all that stress Shizuo almost forgot about the flea, about his own task, and now he glanced at the boy sitting by the window. Izaya was digging in his backpack probably looking for the textbook. Shizuo made a wry face. That lesson scheduled for them was English. As if Shizuo could speak English fluently, let alone teach it.

“All right, class,” he sighed, “let’s begin.”

Shizuo tried to get as comfortable as it could get in that wooden chair with a half-cracked back because he knew it wouldn’t be easy. Having taken a book in his hands, he read the title.

“An-na-o-fu-gu-rii-nu-ga-bu-ru,” he muttered and tsked. “Damn school.”

“Sakuragi,” he called; the girl wearing glasses raised her head. “Read.”

And thus it began. Someone better, someone worse, but that was definitely one of the most torturous things you could come across at school. Shizuo was bored out of his mind. He hadn’t been a book worm back then, and now he found it still as difficult to concentrate on the plot as it used to be before. Especially with that kind of reading.

“Beru, beru, berizu nou nizu tsu kurai sou abauto itsu.”

“Thanks, Matsuoka,” said Shizuo and raised his head. That pest was clearly fooling around with his book open somewhere close to the end.

“Orihara!” he growled, a sense of satisfaction filled him to the brim, as he saw that flea shuddered and gave him a wary glance.

“Continue, Orihara.”

“The child raised her head quickly, revealing a tear-stained face and trembling lips.” His voice sounded youthful, still a bit high-pitched, but clear and energetic. “YOU would cry, too, if you were an orphan and had come to a place you thought was going to be home and found that they didn't want you because you weren't a boy.” He was not reading but narrating; intonation and pronunciation were perfect, as far as Shizuo could tell, but that voice, it sounded so much _him_!  A familiar touch, a hint of sarcasm or of mockery, in his voice made Shizuo cringe out of contempt. “Oh, this is the most TRAGICAL thing that ever happened to me!”

“Orihara, you’ve missed the line, have you noticed that?” asked Shizuo without even hiding his satisfaction.

Izaya shifted his gaze from the book to Shizuo, his puzzled look changed into something akin to bitter realization. All eyes were turned in the same direction – they all were looking at Izaya as if he had to say something. The boy blinked and licked his dry lips.

“Go stand in the hallway, Orihara.”

The flea closed the book and, having gently placed it on the desk, went out of the room.

“Fukuda, continue.”

The bell rang, and it meant it was time for the last lesson for today. That was PE, and that was a piece of cake. Students were hurrying to get changed for the lesson, and Shizuo went into the hallway. He was almost certain that Izaya was already gone, running through the school, pissing people off, but there was he, standing, leaning hard on the wall with his eyes vacant and sad.

“Cut off that daydreaming,” Shizuo voice sounded angry and annoyed even though the anger part was never meant in the first place. “You’ve got your PE lesson. Get dressed.”

The pest slightly nodded and disappeared behind the door.

The sun was high, and it seemed to get hotter with every passing minute, though Shizuo didn’t mind the heat. The last lesson for today, and, what was more important, it was PE. PE was fine, he could handle PE.

“Heiwajima-sensei!” cheerful voice called him from behind, and, having turned around, Shizuo saw Suzuki wearing the same red and white jumpsuit.

“Ah… Suzuki-sensei,” he greeted, suddenly feeling too self-conscious about his own a bit too tight blue jumpsuit he had found neatly folded in his desk drawer.

“How was the day?” she approached, hands on her hips.

“Umm… Fine, I guess.” He could hardly call such a day fine, but Shizuo really doubted it would ever change. Perhaps it was his new version of ‘fine’. And if that were fine, what would be ok or bad? His thoughts drifted, and he lost the track of conversation.

“…are doing a relay race,” she suddenly paused. “Heiwajima-sensei, are you listening?”

“Yeah, I mean, umm. Not really,” he said in a tone of apology and sheepishly smiled. Suzuki must have found his smile charming, as she waved off his apology and repeated her words, the smile on her chiseled scarlet lips matched his own.

“I said that girls and I are doing long jumps, and boys are doing a relay race – that’s for you to supervise, sensei.”

She winked, her green eyes full of glee.

“Get it,” Shizuo smiled back. “Ok!” he said loudly, turning to boys, “we are doing a relay race! Get into position.”

Next fifteen minutes passed with Shizuo attentively watching his students do exercise. Sometimes he would nod or say something encouraging, sometimes he would write in his notebook, giving them marks, as students thought. Well, their guess was far from the truth. As Shizuo was absolutely in the dark about the way that exercise should be assessed, he was drawing stars for the quickest ones, pluses or minuses for the rest. If something pissed him off, he would draw an angry face and count to ten, as Tom-san advised. It helped. Pretty much.

Having drawn another bold star, he looked through the names. All boys got some doodles next to their last names. All but one.

“Orihara!” growled Shizuo, attracting everyone’s attention.

“He is absent, sensei,” said that boy who sat at the desk behind Izaya in the class. Araya Shun – as a patch on his t-shirt stated.

“And where is he?” asked Shizuo in a more calm tone. At least, he hoped so.

“Sometimes he skips PE classes, sensei. He must be in the library.”

“I see…” mumbled Shizuo. “Thanks, Araya.”

The boy, Araya, slightly flushed, flattered or embarrassed by the sudden attention.

“Suzuki-sensei!” called Shizuo, and Moriko, who had been watching him closely from the very beginning, came closer. “Would you mind keeping an eye on them for a sec? I gotta things to do.”

“Well, yes, of course.” She frowned a bit, looking rather puzzled, but still turned to the boys and commanded them to get to position for long jump.

On his way to the library Shizuo couldn’t make himself count.

“Shitty flea!” he muttered angrily. “Always skipping lessons, always being too good to attend classes!”

His thoughts drifted to that time when they were high school students. Back then Izaya had been always acting so high and mighty, as if he had been far too good for lessons, for school, for people! And it was one thing to skip lessons, and totally another to drag Shizuo in that mess.

“Damn pest!” With those words Shizuo threw the door to the library open, dozen of eyes immediately fixed on him. The air got thick with tension as he made his way towards Izaya.

“What do you think you’re doing, Orihara??” he roared, looking at Izaya with a furious gleam in his brown eyes.

“I’m reading a book,” his voice was barely audible even in a hushed silence of the library.

“What did ya say??” Shizuo bawled out, suddenly aware of being in the center of everyone’s attention. The vein on his forehead was throbbing, threatening with an acute headache, but Shizuo couldn’t really care. He felt too hot with the scorching fury washing him over and over again, even his breath coming from the dry mouth loud and heavy.

“I am reading a book!” Izaya’s clear youthful voice cut through the silence like a knife. A low murmur went through the room, and Shizuo suddenly calmed.

“No, you are not,” his low menacing voice made the subdued whispering die out. “You’ve got yourself a detention. You are staying after the lessons.”

He looked down at the boy sitting in front of him. Looked with all contempt and hatred he felt for that flea. He wouldn’t let him screw around. Restraining an impulse to spit on the floor to get rid of that foul taste even a single thought about Izaya gave him, Shizuo stormed out of the room.

It was past five in the afternoon. The students on duty had cleaned the class, wiped the kanji off the blackboard, watered the plants, and went home. All students were long gone. All but one. Despite that the class was empty, with only Shizuo sitting at his desk and no one else, Izaya occupied his desk. That one by the window, the second from the back. On getting here, at first he wanted to read a book, but Shizuo, with a suppressed growl, put a sheet of paper atop of it, used, perhaps, more strength, when it needed. The table gave a threatening groan, and Shizuo stepped back, finding the way Izaya put the book back in his bag too satisfying. And from that time Izaya was practicing his calligraphy skills, drawing one after another ever-perfect kanji.

It was half past four when Shizuo’s stomach growled. It must have been a sign. With his anger long gone, there was no need in keeping the flea here any more. Shizuo stood up and approached the boy to see how he was doing and then dismiss him. Coming closer, he noticed that the sleeve of his school uniform was rolled up, not to stain it with ink, perhaps. Shizuo glanced at a narrow wrist and suddenly got taken aback

“What’s that?” the voice came out too hoarse from a long silence.

The flea looked at him, lack of understanding was clearly present in those dark eyes.

“That!” Shizuo growled and grabbed the narrow wrist in his hand, scrutinizing the blue and purple bruise.

Izaya’s eyes got wide with fear as he tried to pull his arm out of Shizuo’s steel grip.

“Let go,” he said in a panicked but subdued voice as if he didn’t believe Shizuo would listen to him.

It was the first time Shizuo saw a boy instead of the flea. The moment his grip got loose, Izaya, grabbing his backpack, plunged out of the class.

It was quarter to five, and Shizuo was still looking at the door Izaya left open in his hurry to escape. He was thinking.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave comments, please! Always love reading them~


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